Trauma
by The Fallen Sun
Summary: There are times when desperate measures must be taken. When there is nothing left but to recover from wounds old and new. All that trauma, all of that pain, could make or break a man. Who's to say one needs to be born human to endure it? (Story Rating subject to change.)
1. Chapter 1: We Begin

"The Coursers are ready to be assessed by you personally, Father."

Those were the first words that played in his mind over and over again since this morning. He looked to the synths gathered before him in the central portion of the Institute. They were all here to potentially fill in the role of a Courser. They had their designations and like the rest within the clean, efficient and productive halls of the Institute they were silent. His eyes kept trailing to one in particular though, closer to the middle of the group of sixteen. His eyes were different compared to the others. They were a darkened shade of amber that struck a chord within his mind. The facial features, with a just a bit of fine tuning th-…

"Sir?"

He looked over to the man that was assigned to help him with a start from his musings. He forgot his name and for a moment the train of thought he had. Despite the tireless workforce within the synths humans were required for more intricate things. The synths, though machines, had their uses such as infiltrators or Coursers. His eyes strayed to the amber-eyed synth again.

"That one there," he gestured to him with a subtle curl of his shoulder, "the one with the amber eyes. How did he do?"

The visor covered head looked down and flipped through a few pages and Father could only imagine the frown forming beneath it. "That's D4-83, combat skills were superb and from the rest of the testing he did were," he flipped a couple more pages, referencing other tests? Father couldn't be sure, he may be the lead of the Institue but he made it so each branch could operate on its own, "above normal levels though from the jot notes it felt like he was holding back, to what degree the were not sure."

"And where did we pull his mind from?"

"Sir?"

"Most Coursers all have a similar look, and feel, to them as we well know." He gestured to D4-83. "Yet this one looks different."

"From what I can read a portion of his looks were pulled from the pre-war soldier from the," he cleared his throat, "incident earlier on."

Father's eyes narrowed. It seemed one of his staff thought this would be a cruel joke to him. He looked familiar for a reason, a reason he wouldn't utter aloud but that alone made his fist curl tightly into his pocket. He wouldn't show outward signs of his rage, let that show in his orders. He could salvage this though, he always could. He wasn't the leader of the mankind's future for nothing after all.

"I'll speak to him alone, dismiss the rest and have them report to processing. That includes you to supervise."

"But I r-"

His glare silenced any future protests and with a curt nod he stepped away, already relaying his orders. They were dismissed and followed his human assistant to processing, which translated to wiping their minds before they returned to their previous duties. D4-83 remained still with his arms folded behind his back. He looked to either side of him and he shifted in the dark uniform. Father could hear the creaking of the armored leather and he approached. A hint of nervousness? Interesting. Father quickly realized as he stood before him that the synth stood taller than him but not by much. He peered along his features, skin, eyes. They were similar to the man that flitted across his mind, his own father, but so unlike his own that it made him grit his teeth. He needed to keep calm though, less one of the more uppity members of his council saw.

"D4-83." He addressed the synth cordially to see how he reacted.

His shoulders squared and his back straightened a bit more. "Yes, Father?"

For some reason when he was referred to that by him it made him feel queasy. He blamed it on his old age, the sickness gnawing at his very being and dismissed it with a short cough.

"Do you believe in second chances, D4-83?"

"I believe in what you do, Father."

Father managed a bit of a smile at that. Each synth was loyal, but this one could be special, a pet project of his that could make up for what was lost. What was lost immediately made him think of Kellogg and his report of the incident in question which robbed his mother of her husband. The original article of the being standing before him. He reached up and inspected either side of him. He couldn't be sure of the exact facial features now, but from what he could remember in his young mind this seemed right, proper almost.

"Then you'll believe in the mission I have for you then, D4-83. You will be a Courser, yes, but you'll be left on your own devices. No chip."

His brows knitted in confusion."Why would you go against parameters, Father?"

He questioned him? This would be a proper experiment indeed. He could see his mediocre saboteur's paled features wherever they were now. Most he would mindwipe for such a transgression but this mind that was created need to stay intact and upgraded for this to be pulled off. Already the pieces were clicking together as he rubbed at his bearded chin. He made his way over to the wall.

"I need a processing team here. Now."

His tone brokered no argument and there was a glint of confusion in the synth's eyes.

"Don't worry," Father explained with a smile, "With old age simply comes… regret. In time, I hope you'll understand that."

* * *

His head ached and his limbs were heavy, stiff, protesting in all sorts of manners. He stirred a bit from his prone position and spat a glob of dirt from his mouth. Prone? Why was he on the ground? He groaned as he reached up and rubbed a hand along his face. He pulled it away and with a scowl he saw blood staining his fingers, slowly trailing. God, what happened to him? How did he get up here? His brain was fuzzy more so and his tongue was lead in his mouth. He got to his knees and his vision swam while the world tilted on its axis. A hand was used to steady himself as he took several deep breathes. When did the sun get so bright? He brought a hand up, shielding his eyes from the sun's angry rays. He looked down at himself. A blue jumpsuit? What? When did he-?

Images flashed along his mind nearly rendering him to the ground again as they forced themselves to play in his rattled brain. Voices strayed in and out with different pitches. All of it caused an odd ringing in his ears. His breath was labored, hitched as he heard the oddly familiar voices haunt him.

 _Sir! Mum! You better see this!_

 _I was thinking we could go to the park today… weather should hold up._

 _If only your mother we-…_

 _So I guess this is goodbye for now. But with luck, we'll meet again._

He stared up at the sun again. His chest was rattling, his blood roared in his veins. Anger. He felt anger. He scrambled to his feet and like a man possessed he ran up the small slope of the hill. His body was moving faster then his tired mind could catch up. He felt a weight at his hip and peered at the bulky gun that was strapped snugly against him. It felt larger then he was used to. He readied it and a metallic click accompanied it. How did he know how to use a gun? When he reached the top of the hill the sun's rays made his eyes water but something else was drowned out the blood pumping in his veins.

There was the metallic grinding of coming towards him sending his teeth into an unwanted grind. It emitted from the large hole which he nearly stumbled into during his haze. He made his way over to the small tower beside it and thankfully he found a pair of beaten up sunglasses. They were scratched to all hell, but they did the job in easing the throbbing behind his eyes. The sight that emerged from it though made him lower the pistol.

The woman that stood there was gasping for breath. Her hair was dark brown, long and loose. An image flashed in his mind that showed her usually keeping it in a tail. Her flesh pale, but not sickly so, sun-kissed. She was lean but her curves were pleasantly prominent. When she looked around he could see a glimpse of the pale-blue eyes that made everyone she met second guess themselves. Yet he was unmoved. A part of him wanted to embrace her and the other wanted to spill things that didn't make any sense to him. He rubbed at his temple in frustration as he made his way towards her.

"Hun?" her voice was high and hopeful, but it wavered near the end showing a layer of fear.

He knew he was supposed to nod but he didn't and instead offered an apologetic smile. "I can't say who this hun is," his voice was low, not quite monotone he found, but neutral. It didn't sound right to him, "but he seems like a lucky guy."

She smiled sweetly at him, but the way she stood was guarded. A nervous laugh tumbled from her lips. "I'm… I'm Noreen, uh… Nora for short really. Who are you?"

A frown screwed along his lips for a moment. He was about to say he didn't know then a name popped to mind, jabbing him behind the eyes again. He rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "Dane," he greeted, "my name's Dane and uh, I'm pretty sure I'm lost."

She laughed bitterly, a sad smile at her lips. "Maybe we can both help each other a bit here then. The world… I don't know what happened to it, but I need to g-go try and find my son. Someone took him and my husband… God I don't know what happened to my husband but he wasn't there either when I woke up. M-My house, I need to get to my house!"

With that she sped off. Dane began to follow but another series of images passed into his mind making him near pass out as his ears rung. White halls, ruined arches, armored knights stomped by a tide of green on the American flag. He felt suddenly drained and tired but taking a deep breath he stood straight and marched steadily on behind her even as he felt his blood tickle down the back of his suit.

* * *

"Why am I only being informed now that the original sample was corrupted?!"

To say Father was furious was an understatement. It seemed that instead of wiping his mind entirely, as he carefully instructed, the team wiped only his synth memories but kept the training he received. Now he was receiving this news and he felt his age further now, and stress made the lights within the meeting hall a nightmare.

"Considering the sample's," one of the scientists paused for a moment trying his best to find the appropriate word, "integrity we were lucky to get anything at all from it."

"What do you mean by that?"

"His brain was nearly burst from the inside out."

So it was that bad then, he had hoped their field agent was exaggerating slightly. Father sighed and rubbed at his beard for a moment. "Yes, I read Kellogg's report. What was done for the recovery then? A full system reboot?"

"Ah… no, not exactly." One of them explained hastily, less not to incur his wrath. "There was another unused sample we gathered some years ago that we kept data mining. Considering the uniqueness of the situation at hand we considered it the most viable option."

Father lofted a brow at that. He hadn't heard of such a sample, perhaps before his time as Director. It was hard to say how deep the Institue's web truly went. He nodded slowly to that though, in understanding to the situation at hand.

"And where was this sample obtained from?"

"One of our agents around the Capital Wasteland," he explained, "Dr. Zimmer I do believe. He collected the necessary scans with his instruments even sent one of our Coursers back with the body so we could gather as much as we can, given the circumstances of his death."

"Which was?" one of the men to his right asked in a sharp tone.

"Plasma fire, by the looks of things. Most of his body and armored jumpsuit were melted to him. His right arm was missing, and part of his face was melted in."

Father shook his head, such a terrible way to die. He looked along the table, a shadow of a frown touching his bearded chin. "Tell me of him."

"Young, not even twenty, strong build, father from our reports was a doctor." The assessment began, "The mother is an unknown factor though but from what the reports said she worked closely with him. Past history put them both in Washington, D.C.. The mother died in child birth and the father seemingly to radiation poisoning." He cleared his throat and at Father's behest continued. "The son worked with both the Brotherhood of Steel and a mercenary outfit called Reilly's Rangers. The Regulators also kept him under their employ as well from a few scattered reports."

Father frowned. He heard this tale before. He held his hand out to the scientist with the papers and he combed through it all. Eye witness reports, written reports by the dead boy's hand. He was thorough, analytic, Father even mused that if he met him earlier he could have been a friend or young protégé for him.

"…Are these reports accurate?"

"Well, up for speculation at best, sir. All that he had accomplished for the wasteland supposedly took a year, two at most." The scientist shrugged. "The evidence supports this theory though."

Father reread several lines to be safe. He couldn't believe most of what he was reading. Venturing into the Pitt? Waltzing around Point Lookout? Abducted supposedly by aliens for several months? It couldn't be believed, yet here it all was before him. "And it's been a decade since then."

The scientist nodded. "Yes, sir but due to the-"

"Trauma. Due to all the trauma to both brains and bodies they were amalgamated into one. That is risky but for the sake of humanity's future we will let it play out. Keep our watchers close to him and send me any recordings personally, no copies, no back ups, everything sent to me and me alone. Is that understood?"

They all nodded to him without hesitation. He would assign a Courser, likely X6-88 when he returns, to constantly check in on everyone in this room. It was for the best, even if for the best meant even more trauma.


	2. Chapter 2: Trophy

There was nothing left in Sanctuary but bloatflies, radroaches and an eccentric Mr. Handy by the name of Codsworth that seemingly was thrilled when Nora approached him. It was then he found out that she was over 200 years old, technically speaking. That threw him for a loop but Codsworth insisted on wanting help cleaning up the neighborhood of pesky bugs. Not like the machine needed it, but Dane was happy to assist. Nora's sobs could be heard in the abandoned house of hers in the background even as Codsworth flamethrower scorched the bugs to ash. He wished he could help her somehow, but Dane knew it'd be a moot point. The odd flashes, and ghostly sounds in his ears didn't stop even a day later. They were showing him parts of the world he knew the names of, but he had no recollection why. He busied his hands by trying to fashion himself some sort of patch for the partly torn vault suit he wore. He had the hands for guns and their cleaning, not the finer points of sewing. There was some old clothing he found, but he figured the scraps of cloth could be used for bandages instead.

"Dane?"

He peered up from his work as Nora approached him. She held her Pipboy in one hand and what seemed to be a box of bobby pins in the other. The gifts were accompanied with a frown though.

"You feeling okay, Nora?" He asked, quietly.

She shook her head. "No, everything here is… different. I can't escape anything. This isn't my home anymore, just a shadow of times I wish I could forget. Codsworth mentioned you were going to Concord?"

He nodded. "He mentioned there was some folk there, might be worth checking out. Far as I'm concerned you and I are alone out here, but I don't think I'd make the best company." He noted with a quirk of a lip.

He was happy when she returned it with a small, teasing smile. "You'd be surprised, but I think you're better off to use this then me. I'm a fish out of water, you look like you've been through a bit."

Dane smirked despite himself. "Oh? Saying I look ugly, Nora?"

Nora managed another smile. "Far from it, I just think you can handle yourself better then me out there."

Dane felt his cheeks color even as he looked away a moment. He cleared his throat. "Ah, well, yes, thank you. I'm sure it can come in handy."

With a small smile Nora turned and returned to her home. Dane could already see her shoulders shaking. Codsworth hovered over to him as he stood up. He patted the bot idly.

"Keep an eye on her, Codsworth."

The robotic butlet gave a salute with its buzzsaw clad arm. "As always, sah!"

The weight on his wrist was something he adjusted to quickly. Nora's crying still rung in his ears even as he made his way towards Concord. He didn't know why he had that need to protect her, but there it sat with a few more images of her veiled in white, and smiling even as he slipped a ring around her finger. The musical clang of bells rung in the background as the images flashed briefly over his gaze. That couldn't be right. He was single wasn't he? He wasn't sure about anything anymore and he hoped this venture to Concord would distract him somehow. He rubbed at the bridge of his nose and wished these damned images and headaches would stop.

Then he heard a deep, growling bark.

The pistol flicked up right ahead at the station. He felt like he just Sanctuary. Had he drifted that much with that headache? He had the pistol still aimed ahead of him as a large, black and white furred canine padded his way to him. The tail was swaying and its dark blue eyes peered at him. He hadn't seen a dog in, well he didn't know exactly, but it was a long time. He reached down and he scratched through its mane slowly. The canine seemed receptive, pressing his body to it with a low, pleased grumble.

"Hey boy," he murmured, "what are you doing here all by yourself?"

The dog whimpered as it leaned into his scratching.

"You want to come with be pal?" he asked, smiling at how the canine happily leaned to his touch. He even barked happily at the question. Or was that his headaches just playing tricks on him?

"Alright then," he said with a chuckle, "let's stick together."

The dog barked several times more and hopped around him even as he searched the Red Rocket for anything he could use. Considering what he found he would have needed a bag, but it seemed the dog already had that idea as it bound up to him with a messenger bag in his mouth. He chuckled quietly and ruffled his fur.

"Good boy." He murmured.

Dog drool aside, it was made of some rather solid leather though well aged and it was caked in old dirt and blood. It'd suit his needs just fine though if he found anything of interest. He secured it snugly over a shoulder as he placed the stimpacks into it, along with the leftover duct tape he used to keep the thing from falling apart at the seams. There was plenty more for him to carry but he needed a bigger bag for that.

The local wildlife, in the form of two grotesque mosquitoes, greeted him as he left but a pair of shots each clipped their wings. He stamped on them with his boot as well, for good measure. Their meal was a large, bloated corpse that looked reminiscent of a cow but it had two heads. He tilted his head at the sight but didn't dwell on it too much further as the pup barked near the sign leading into Concord. He bounded ahead of him and Dane had to sprint to catch up. When he finally did the dog was low to the ground, growling lowly in its throat.

"What's-"

A couple of gunshots ahead of him made the pistol snap up again quickly. He peered around the corner leading into the main strip of the small town and he took in the scene. There were several men and women in an assortment of rags all taking potshots at a man on a balcony. He seemed busy turning some sort of crank wound rifle. He couldn't get a right angle but when he popped out of his cover a stream of red-hot laser made one of the rag covered men leap back. The man who was shot at only laughed in a maniacal way though as he, and his fellows, continued to chip away at his cover and even from here he could see the worry on the man's face.

"Let's go." he muttered to his furred friend.

The hound charged ahead, barking and snarling. One of the attackers turned and was immediately leapt upon by the large canine, throwing him to the ground and with a wet rip of flesh his neck was torn out. Dane made a note not to irk the pup. When the rest of them turned their shoddy weapons to him his pistol snapped to them. He fired a pair of shots each and to his surprise, most dropped from the shots. With an unwanted click though the gun emptied and like a fool he realized he didn't bring any spare clips. Wonderful.

He bull rushed the last man who swung a large lead pipe at him. He weaved his frame back, the metal hissing along his cheek. He stumbled to his knees and he brought his leg around. He kicked his knee out and there was a wet sounding crunch and the man screamed. Dane took the pipe himself and he slammed it down hard once and again, silencing the man with a squelch.

There was a stubborn soul trying to crawl around a corner though, holding his stomach. The pup didn't bother with him but nudged a man in a long duster on the ground, whimpering quietly. A friendly maybe? Dane's attention though stayed on the bleeding man.

"Who sent you?" Dane growled to him.

"Fuck you." He hissed through bloody teeth.

He brought the lead pipe down again, turning his knee into a warped mess. The bleeding man howled and Dane found a strange sort of satisfaction with the sound.

"I can make your death quick," he hissed to him, "or drag it out. Tell me who sent you or I'll go for your other knee."

"Fuck. You." the stubborn raider spat.

The lead pipe came down again with a pair of hard smacks. The other leg was ruined. The man was crying, hissing in pain as he did his best to show his defiance. Dane brought up his bloodied pipe up beneath the chin. "Once more, with feeling." he warned. "Who. Sent. You."

"G-Gristle… boss is Gristle."

He had the name burn in his mind. And he brought his hands up, twisting his hands to either side with a clean snap. He sighed and got to his feet, rubbing at his bloody face. Why always the face, he wondered, why not the arm? The leg? Oh no, had to be the face. He made his way over to the hound's whimpering frame. He scratched behind his ear idly. "He's in a better place, boy."

"Hey, you!" a voice cried. "Up here on the balcony!"

He looked up at the duster wearing man, complete with an odd looking cowboy hat and a burdened looking pack strapped to him.

"The raiders are trying to get through the door, grab that laser musket and get inside, hurry!"

That laser musket was clutched closely by the dead man the pup mourned for. He grabbed the clunky looking thing and flipped it about in his hands. There were a few of the yellow cartridges on the ground which he took and with the one inside he cranked it. The musket hummed as he held it in his hand. With a little nod to pup he pushed through the door.

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust and he peered up and saw a pair of raiders shooting at where the man was holed up, no doubt. Without thinking he brought up the musket and squeezed. The red hot laser hissed out and the raider spun in the air before he fell off the balcony, hitting the ground with a crunch. He pumped the crank again but a warning bark made him drop the weapon without thinking.

The heavy looking axe slammed into the pillar he used as cover. The raider was decked out in some sort of mixture of leather and metal and he had a painted gas mask on that depicted a clown's maniacal grin. He dodged another swing that would have taken his head off but he brought the pipe around beneath, crushing the man's groin with the sharp end of the pipe. In the wasteland around him, who said he needed to fight fair? The raider slid to his knees, clutching his groin. Even as he nearly keeled over he picked up the laser musket again.

"…Pup, kill."

The large hound leapt at the man and without a bit of hesitation he tore his throat out. The man sputtered out from gas mask and Dane didn't even pay him a glance. He picked up the fire axe, leaving the pipe where it landed. A few scattered shots danced around him with a shout from above where the second raider was and he did his best to weave through the museum. There was another raider but before she could bring up her rusty looking revolver the pup brought her to the ground and tore out her throat as well. He kneeled down and scratched his pup behind the ears.

"Easy boy," he soothed, "don't want you hurt."

The pup immediately licked his cheek and with a little laugh he wiped the bloody drool away. He looked to him with those dark eyes and he didn't care. He adored the pup and in a way reminded him a bit of himself. He tore off a bit of fabric from the dead raider's outfit to wipe his face clean. During his glancing around he saw a gate closed and some sort of generator humming beneath it. He made his way to it and with some fiddling with the console he hacked it easily enough. It had a command to open the door, but he saw this as an opportunity for some lockpick practice. He was surprised he took to it easily, only breaking a single bobby pin. The generator housed a metallic core and out of curiosity more then anything he pulled the core free with a twist of his wrist. He pocketed it, likely to take it apart later.

Man and dog moved on. They encountered a pair of raiders standing guard. One of them had a shoddy looking rifle but the other had a double barreled shotgun. In short he had poor odds. He carefully leaned his axe against the wall and cranked the musket. The hum was oddly soothing as he peeked around the corner and a red gas tank was on the ground. He stepped around and took a breath. He could see their eyes widening as the laser struck the tank. He immediately hit the deck, hugging his pup close to him as the explosion rattled the small room.

His ears rung and he could see spots, all he could see was red and Dane wasn't sure what to do. With a few blinks his vision returned as he got to his feet shakily a distant ringing in his ear. The pup whimpered to him and he ruffled his mane. The scene he caused was pure carnage. One of the raiders was blown apart in two but the other had the worse of it. He had several chunks of the tank embedded in him, one of them which nearly split his skull in two. Dane helped himself to the shotgun and what few shells he could find, but in addition he found a few rounds for his pistol. The raiders wanted to use this place as a place of operations. He prayed to whatever God remained that if that guy in the duster was part of this he'd end him with the axe.

He made his way slowly up the stairs. He could hear duster's laser musket booming and keeping the raiders at bay and with each boom he moved forward. He could hear the raider through the door. The axe and musket were strapped haphazardly to him, while his pistol was at his hip. He had the shotgun leveled and he took a deep breath and he slammed through the door. It only got half way as he heard a grunt as he brought the raider to the ground. He brought the shotgun up to the standing raider and unleashed both barrels into him. He flew off the edge and Dane paid the dead man no mind. He brought the shotgun around and cracked the butt into the prone man's nose. The pistol was drawn in his left hand and he shot the raider pounding on the door twice in the back, making him slump to the ground.

The door opened up and he could see the duster raise his rifle to him. Dane was about to call to pup to attack, but he lowered the rifle. "Oh thank God it's you, inside quickly!"

When he stepped inside he immediately shook hands with the man. "Preston Garvey," he greeted, "Commonwealth Minuteman."

Garvey was young, but it seemed whatever he went through aged him. Heavy stubble had settled on his chin and he had a thin scar that went to his ear. He held himself like a soldier, but Dane thought with a good kick he'd sweep his legs out from beneath him.

"Good to meet you but… Minutemen?"

"Protect the people at a minute's notice," he said with a bitter snort, "that was the idea anyway."

Garvey explained their situation and Dane couldn't help but feel bad for him. He knew the name Gristle when Dane mentioned it to him, apparently some raiders that had a bit of a hold in the area. Garvey and his associate Sturges though had an idea that caught his interest.

"You saw the vertibird up on the roof when you came in, ya?" the mechanic asked with a little grin. "We managed to salvage a suit of mint T-45 Power Armor. All we need is a…a…" he looked to Preston, "what'd you call it?"

"A prewar FC, a fusion core."

"How big is it?" Dane asked.

Garvey held up his hands and with a bit of ruffling around in his pack he held it out to them. "You mean this?"

"Yes!" Sturges exclaimed. "That's it."

"Well would you look at that, seems our luck may be turning around. Get the armor running and I think we may have a chance to punch out of here."

Dane rolled his shoulders. "Mind if I leave my things here then? I don't think the power armor couldn't really house me and my gear."

"Yeah, yeah, I can keep an eye on it for you." Sturges replied with a grin.

With a nod and a little glance to pup he gestured to his things and the large hound simply curled around it. "Good boy."

He kneeled down, ruffling his mane and he received a little nuzzle to his neck. The pup seemed sad almost to see him go.

"I'll be back pup," he assured the hound, "don't worry."

He weighed the core in his hand and with nothing but that he made his way to where Sturges had mentioned where they found it. The sun was still high in the sky and with a glance to it there it was, a piece of tall, bulky armor that he had no idea what to do with. He saw the slot for what he assumed was the core and with a shrug he jammed it in with a metal click. With a twist on the valve the armor hissed open at the back. When she settled into the armor it closed around him. It felt a bit claustrophobic, but he managed. He made his way over to the minigun they also mentioned. Rip it off they said, he really doubted it'd be that easy. He reached over and with a little tug the gun was nearly flung to the side. He used his other hand to stabilize the weapon and he didn't bother trying to suppress the grin on his lips.

"Oh…" Dane murmured, adjusting the grip on the weapon. "Oh I can get used to this."

"Hey, hey boss! Somebody's up here!"

A raider was clambering across the roof towards him and he lifted the minigun up. With a squeeze and a bit of a wind up it purred out a burst. The ammo the minigun hosted simply tore the raider's side open and he stumbled off the roof. He didn't bother watching him fall as his eyes were to the main street. One of them had his ugly, scarred head showing to all as he held a shotgun in his hands and the goons that gathered around him held proper looking rifles this time. Were these raiders that well armed?

"Why don't you come down here and show me that pretty power armor of yours?" he heard the scarred one, whom he assumed was Gristle, yell to him.

If he had that much of a death wish, who was Dane not to grant him it? He hopped down from the roof and the armor took the impact. It took Dane a minute to realize his legs weren't broken and with a chuckle escaping the helm he raised the minigun up and allowed it to bark out bursts of its payload, most of it scattered along the ground but one of the men dropped as his chest was burst open. He saw a red arc of laser plant itself in the ground as he heard Preston began to take potshots on the raiders.

"Oh fuck," one of them cried, "minigun, minigun!"

The laser musket wasn't a worry at all to them as the raiders immediately scattered from him. The armored Dane marched forward. He didn't want to waste ammo. He was beside the husk of a red pickup when he heard a heavy clunk against his arm. He looked over at the raider who tried to use a baseball bat. He stared at his wide eyed before his arm swept along, spinning his head sharply to the side, the jaw with it, as he collapsed to the ground.

Then the earth began to shift beneath him as he neared the crossroads. The raiders who were there seemed confused too, forgetting about the fact there was a man with a minigun between them all that could likely end them all. The ground shifted again, toppling Dane down to a knee. A metal grate was thrown into the air and a large, clawed hand batted it aside if it were a cat with a ball of yawn. The creature that emerged nearly made Dane wet himself. The large horns, predatory eyes and the long dark claws it had looked like it could cut him down in a fell sweep.

"Deathclaw!" he heard Preseton shout in clear panic. "Get away from it! Now!"

Dane didn't need to be told twice as he backpedalled and let the minigun roar. He saw blood, but most of the bullets made it angry rather then did damage. Gristle's shotgun blasted its leg and the raider leader was split in two with a sweep of the Deathclaw's hand. He kept moving back, taking bursts of the minigun to the raiders. The creature made quick work of the rest, turning them into mere pieces of shredded meat before it bound towards him. The minigun's steady stream of bullets scattered along its horns, face and shoulders but the beast was unhindered. Before Dane knew it he was lifted as if here were nothing but a paper weight. He threw him aside and the armor bucked and hissed against one of the ruined buildings.

Another arc of laser scorched its hide and it gave Dane the time he needed to bring up the minigun as he stood. When the beast turned to roar at him Dane leveled the barrel of the gun down its mouth and squeezed. The effect was immediate. The hide was strong, but inside the beast's mouth began to burst from several spots where the gun scored blows. He kept pouring the lead on, staring right at the beast's eyes when it fell onto its back. He dropped the minigun and in his power armor he began to pummel the hell out of the Deathclaw. His fists and feet were enhanced and with a satisfied squish of bone and sinew he split the creature's face in two.

"Ho…ly… shit." He heard Sturges' voice mutter.

How long had he been standing over the creature for? Preston, Sturges and the others all stared at him wide eyed. Even in the armor, Dane was panting and he made his way over to the group staring down and along them in his armored, blood covered bulk.

"…Everyone in one piece?" Dane asked, his voice was warbled in the armor he noted, but not intelligible.

"Yeah, that… was a pretty amazing display."

"Anyone have a knife?" Dane asked again, interrupting Preston before he could say anything further.

"Uh… I-I have one." He heard the asian male stutter out. "Why?"

Dane looked over to the Deathclaw. "I want a God damn trophy."


End file.
